


Underthings Tumbling

by plinys



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:50:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2824049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma Simmons always does her laundry on Thursdays, because that's the same day the a certain somebody does his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underthings Tumbling

**Author's Note:**

> For the wswinter prompts over on tumblr, the first of which is civilian/domestic au.
> 
> It's my first time writing ws so be gentle okay?? //haha

“Jemma- are you even listening to me?

“No, I'm sorry, what was it you were saying?”

Truth be told, Jemma hadn’t been listening to what Skye had been saying for at least the last three minutes of the weekly lunch/gossip session.  Rare enough occurrence as it was, though only explainable because there was something else or well- someone who had been occupying her mind for the past few weeks.

Somebody that she

“Lance is dragging me to this stupid art show of his, which like the sex is great and all,” Jemma grimaces, but Skye just continues talking like it’s nothing, “but his art stuff is _weird_. I told him that I’d go – which means you have to go because I cannot be stuck there all night looking at that crap and pretending its Mozart.”

“Mozart was a musician,” Jemma points out.

“See, this is proof that you have to come with me!”

She sighs, there’s really no stopping Skye when she gets set on one of these things, “when is it?”

“Uh, Tuesday, I think- no wait,” she pulls out her phone, scrolling through her calendar for a moment before making a little face, “it’s actually Thursday, not the Thursday that’s tomorrow but the one after that.”

“Oh no, Skye, I can’t,” Jemma says, “Thursday’s laundry day.”

“Can’t you do it some other day?”

Technically yes she could, but that would mean missing her usual laundry buddy, and Jemma’s about two weeks away from asking him something other than, _“do you have an extra quarter”_ or _“lovely weather we’re having_ ,” and missing one day will move her all the way back to square one.

“Sorry?”

“He’s _your_ brother! You can’t just abandon me to his stupid art show.”

“You’re the one sleeping with him,” which is a disturbing enough thought as it is, she was really regretting having ever introduced the two of them.

“Jemma, please, just do laundry on Friday. I’ll even help you.”

 “Yes, but you see, I always do my laundry on Thursdays,” Jemma insists, “it’s a habit of mine, rituals are important, my life coach says that having a structured weekly plan is the key to a successful and highly satisfying life.”

“You, Jemma Simmons, are a terrible liar,” Skye accuses her not for the first time, narrowing her eyes, Skye seems to be contemplating something for a moment before asking, “so, is he cute?”

“Who?”

“The guy at the laundry mat,” she says, “obviously.”

“There’s no _guy at the laundry mat_! Honestly, the idea is absurd! Laundry mats are for washing clothing, not admiring men with very wonderful physiques that happen to always do their laundry Thursday evenings. I mean, honestly, Skye, what sort of woman do you take me for?”

“So he is cute?”

“Skye!”

“Jemma!”

The silent, mock offended, staring contest only last a moment longer before Jemma cracks, she’s always been awful at staring contests and admits, “yes, a little.”

Skye just smirks at her, before saying, “you should invite him to the show.”

“Oh please, the last thing I would take any guy I was even _vaguely_ interested in would be to one of Lance’s art shows.”

\---

In the span of less than five minutes Jemma had received nearly thirty text messages, most of which consisted of people trying to guilt trip her and frowny face emojis. She half wondered if they spent their dates trying to find ways to make her life as difficult as possible, in all honesty, she wouldn’t put it past them.

When her phones goes off yet again, the vibrations amplified by the fact that it’s sitting on top of the washing machine, Jemma groans.

To make matters worse, _he_ looks up at the noise – Grant Ward, otherwise known as ‘the hottie from the laundry mat’ (dubbed so by her roommate that’s never even actually seen the guy), who somehow manages to look completely stunning while doing his laundry of all things. While Jemma, on the other hand, is certain she looks like a mess, and not one of the hot ones.

“Somebody’s popular today,” he says, which officially makes this the third conversation that they have ever had that doesn’t involve talking about their laundry or asking for spare quarters.

She might have found that something to rejoice over if she wasn’t staring down at another message composed of emojis – this time most of which seemed to be cows.

“It’s just Lance,” she says casually, while trying to compose a text that correctly conveyed her disapproval at all of this.

Though she looks up when she detects a weird note to Grant’s voice as he says, “ah, got it, clingy boyfriend.”

Jemma doesn’t mean to laugh, after all, his face looks a bit disappointed and she’s never been the type to laugh at people’s disappointment, but, well in this case, “he’s my brother, half-brother technically but,” she shakes her head quickly, “no thank you.”

“Shit, sorry.”

“No, no, it’s perfectly alright,” she laughs a bit, before slamming her phone down on top of one of the machines with a bit more force than was probably necessary, after all it wasn’t the phone’s fault that certain people kept texting her, “he’s just being really annoying lately, because of this stupid art show next week that I don’t want to go to, and really it’s all just silly and complete nonsense, nothing you need to be bothered with hearing about.”

“I don’t mind,” he answers quickly, “hearing about it. I mean, we’ve got what twenty minutes,” he turns to look at the machine before correcting, “twenty-two before I need to switch over to a drier and you’re-“

“About the same,” Jemma nods at her own machines.

“Well, then complain away.”

She probably shouldn’t take the invitation so easily, after all nobody ever really wanted to hear about her life, they were just being polite, and Grant probably had important emails to reply to or something like that, but at the same time, with her brother and her roommate dating complaining about either one of them was near impossible.

“My brother, Lance, does is going through this weird modern art stage, and his girlfriend, who happens to me by roommate is insisting that I have to go along with her and _protect_ her from the weirdoes that go to these things,” Jemma laughs a little at her own joke before continuing, “but like, the show’s next Thursday and as I told Skye, Thursday is laundry day.”

“You could always do you laundry another day,” he offers, though he’s frowning just a bit as he says those words.

“Yes, but then I wouldn’t have an excuse for not wanting to be the third wheel for that inevitable mess.”

“Ouch,” he says, “you have my sympathies, if the persistence of those messages,” and as if on cue her phone goes off again, “is anything to judge by, I can only imagine how that night would have been.”

“Awful, surely,” she agrees.

“Though, if being the third wheel was your main problem, maybe you should just take a date of your own.”

That catches Jemma’s attention, “I never thought I’d be getting relationship advice from an acquaintance in a laundry mat.”

“Truthfully it was more like me finding a way to ask you if you wanted a date but-“

“Excuse me!”

“Unless you’re not interested,” he backs up quickly, “in which case forget this conversation ever happened, and I’ll return to sorting my socks.”

There’s something charming about the way he moves back to his machine not too quickly, but not too slowly either, like he knows that any second now she’s going to say, “wait.”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to suffer through a modern art show with me next Thursday instead of sorting your socks?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

 

 


End file.
